Thanks
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: John really doesn't like Dave when he's high.


Your name is John Egbert, and your boyfriend is high. Again.

"Hey," Dave says, waving vaguely at you from the floor, his sunglasses askew so they only cover one of his eyes, and you can see the other is red-rimmed, the outside matching the iris.

"Oh, come on," you say, looking down at him and pulling a face, "It's eight in the morning. This is getting ridiculous."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," he says, and you roll your eyes, "Hey. I can't even... Um... When did I last get high... I don't... Man, I don't know."

"Yesterday, Dave," you say, sighing, "You got high yesterday and thought your sandwich was a bird."  
"Hey, that thing had wings. I wasn't high."

"You had the joint in your hand."

"That was bro's," he says, and you throw yourself on the bed, making a frustrated noise.

Frankly, you doubted his bro even did drugs. He didn't seem like the sort of person who'd be into that type of thing. However, he seemed to have no problem providing his little brother with a seemingly endless supply of marijuana. Whatever that guy's deal was, you wish he wouldn't just leave you to deal with high Dave. High Dave was your least favourite Dave. Idly, you wonder where he hides his stash, and wonder whether getting rid of it would make any difference at all. Probably not, you decide, and you sigh.

"Do you have to do this?" you ask, rolling on to your side and propping yourself up on your elbow so you can see him.

"Huh?" he says, looking up at you with a blank expression.

"Do you have to get high?" you repeat, barely resisting the urge to physically knock some sense into him.

"I don't know, man," he says, shrugging impressively expansively, "It just, you know, feels right."

"Well, I don't like it," you say, rolling back onto your back and folding your arms over your chest.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it."

"No thanks," you say, pulling a face, "I don't like you when you're high."

He doesn't reply, but you can hear him moving. You think about looking to see what he's doing, but decide you really can't be bothered with his ridiculous antics at the moment. Sighing heavily, you close your eyes, then open them again as you feel a weight settle on the mattress. You look up into Dave's eyes, his sunglasses completely discarded, and sigh again. He's hovering above you, his hands on either side of your head and his knees under your elbows, next to your torso.

"You sure about that?" he asks, grinning.

You roll your eyes, and unfold your arms, attempting to shove him off of you. He doesn't budge, and you drop your arms, settling for glaring at him instead.

"Come on," he says, leaning down and kissing you.

"You taste all smoky," you say, pulling away and making a face.

"That's just the lack of weed talking," he says, clumsily kissing along your jaw.

You laugh, then try again to push him off of you.

"Hey, no, stop it," he says, gripping onto the covers and clamping his knees against your sides.

"No, get off!" you say, struggling to breathe, "You're killing me! I can't breathe!"

"You can breathe well enough to shout," he says, kissing under your chin, and you sigh a little.

"No, seriously, get off my chest," you say, pushing futilely at his hip, "You're crushing my lungs."

"Shh," he says, kissing your mouth again, but he shifts himself so he's sitting on your stomach, which is only a slight improvement.

"No, no, no, get off," you say, pulling away again and shoving at him some more.

Compromising slightly, he gets off of you, but pulls you up into a sitting position and continues to kiss you. You resist half-heartedly, but you aren't really that mad any more.

"Do you still hate me when I'm high?" he asks between kisses.

"Mm," you reply, "A little."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Getting high."  
You pull away so you can look him in the eye.

"Are you still high?" you ask, staring at him appraisingly.

"A little," he replies, sounding more or less normal.

"Would you be... okay with doing that?"

You can't help the hopeful expression that creeps onto your face.

"Sure," he says, grinning, "It's not like it's doing me any good."

You laugh and hug him.

"Thanks!" you say, kissing his face, "You're the best."

He laughs too, and you've never felt happier to be with him.


End file.
